


Pass and Catch

by grumpyphoenix



Series: Various Bangs [18]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, M/M, Puppeteering, a dash of angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21965827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grumpyphoenix/pseuds/grumpyphoenix
Summary: Castiel, the creator of a puppet show featuring Gabriel the Angel, is about to film a movie. The only problem is that his usual partner can't work for months, which spells disaster for this once in a lifetime chance. The new puppeteer his agent is trying to get him to work with is sullen, closed off, and probably dangerous. He's also gorgeous, with pretty eyes and a nice smile.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Series: Various Bangs [18]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1296632
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40





	Pass and Catch

**Author's Note:**

  * For [insominia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/insominia/gifts).



> This is for the Destiel Writers and Readers Christmas Gift exchange. It is slightly late, because when I went to post it, I discovered that I had copy-and-pasted some of another fic into it. 
> 
> Never write tired. 
> 
> Insominia's request was for obscure AUs where they're both ballet dancers or something else not often used. My step-father was a puppeteer (amongst other things), and I learned how to do it at his knee. I also learned how to juggle like this, in a much less sexy environment. 
> 
> So, here it is, re-assembled! Merry Christmas Insominia!

Castiel’s bags drop with a thump onto the faded carpet. Tomorrow’s Christmas eve, and he’s stuck in this snowstorm with this… guy. Jesus wept.

“Trust Balthazar to make a new definition for ‘last minute’.” the voice behind him is mellow-riding an edge of irritable. 

He moves to make room for Winchester. “He could have done the whole thing over the phone. I don’t know why we had to fly up to his lodge in no-place, New York.”

Winchester shrugs, muscling past with his worn and patched duffle bag, throwing it onto the couch. He doesn’t even dither about which one of them gets the bed. “Look, how bad could this storm get? We’ll ride out the evening, and then go home when the airport opens flights back up tomorrow. You can figure out what you want to do about me later.” 

Castiel picks up his own bag and places it carefully onto the bed, getting his phone out. He leaves the room without comment, heading to the lobby. Winchester doesn’t even look at him when he leaves.

“Cassie,” Balthazar’s voice is scratchy on the other end of the line. “He’s Sam’s brother, and he needs a favor. I know you’d prefer to have Anna with you, but…” 

“It’s not a matter of  _ prefer _ , dammit. Anna’s been my lefthander for years. We created the soul of Gabriel the Angel together. Hell, we created the whole show hand in hand with Chuck. Now we have this movie, and we  _ need her. _ ” 

His agent’s sigh is weary. “This isn’t Children’s Workshop, Cassie. I know you and Chuck have made this show extremely popular, but the studio is still run by executives. Anna’s habit could ruin things before they start. Not only that, but she needed help in the worst way. She’s not fired, she’ll be back after the movie. Which, if you don’t realize, you’re still  _ doing,  _ and soon. Just… with this guy instead.”

“You know we’re sharing the same damn room? The whole hotel here is full!”

Balthazar’s laugh cuts off halfway through finishing, and Castiel can only get an ‘out of service’ signal when he tries again. Stupid snowstorm. This podunk airport is partially to blame, too. If they could have reached, say, New York City, he’s sure there would be planes. At the very least, another hotel room.

He trudges back through the lobby, dodging irritable, displaced holiday fliers as he goes. He wishes they could have called Sam and used him instead, but truthfully, he knows why they can’t. He’s a huge guy, and has to contort himself even more than Castiel to fit under the puppet. That, and he’s gone off to do other things. With his height and physique, he can fit into a lot of full body puppets other people can’t. It opens up a whole new venue for him.

There’s just something about Sam’s brother that gets under his skin. Maybe the way he looked Castiel up and down when they’d first met. Maybe it was the way Castiel had wanted to look back. He isn’t anything like Sam: attractive, athletic and goofy. No, Dean Winchester looks...dangerous. Muscled, guarded, and angry. When he gets back to the hotel room, Dean is on the couch, watching a Christmas movie and eating something crunchy. 

“I mffmrrpzza!” he calls out.

Castiel wrinkles his nose. 

Swallow, grin, “I called for pizza. Only thing open.”

Castiel sits at the small table and looks at him. They have to talk at some point. He has to see how impossible this is. Dean looks back, eyebrow raised.

“I worked with Sam for five years.” 

It’s a question. It hangs in the air between them unanswered until he gestures a little. Dean crosses his feet at the ankles and burps.

“Look, you dick. Chuck, Anna and I built this show up from nothing. We finally have a chance to make something lasting here, and I’m just saying that now is the time you choose to try your hand at puppeteering? I’ve never heard anything about you before.”

Slowly, Dean sits up, eyes hard as flint. “I can see you fishing, angel-boy. You don’t get my story. Sam and I both did our time as a lefthander. When Sam hit eighteen, I dropped off the face of the earth, and he kept going.”

Dean stands, and his posture is defensive, angry. "I’ll work hard. There’s no way I want to jeopardize your movie. I know Chuck, he’s an okay guy.” 

Castiel isn’t sure how to answer that, but the pizza guy knocks on the door before he can really figure out what to say.

Dean’s sullen and angry the rest of the night. He puts the Muppet Christmas Carol on the television and watches it well after Castiel’s gone to bed and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Dawn’s weak grey light filters in through the windows too early. Castiel slips out of sleep gradually and opens his eyes to see a snowy wonderland through the sliding glass door to the balcony. It takes him a second to register the fact that Dean is standing there and staring out at the sky. Possibly because it’s too early, he looks unreal in this light, like a mythical creature caught in a black and white photo.

Dean doesn’t turn his head, but seems to know he’s being stared at anyway. “It’s still snowing,” he says, voice gruff with sleep. “They don’t know when it will let up. They’ve cancelled flights for the entire day.”

Castiel covers his head with the blankets, trying to pretend he didn’t hear that. It’s warm, and he’s just starting to drift off to sleep again when Dean flops onto the bed, jarring him awake. 

He peeks out from the covers. “Get off my bed.” 

Dean grins. It’s tense, but genuine. “Nah.  _ You’re _ getting off the bed. Look, I feel like we need to talk or something. This weird tension we have can’t continue. Shooting starts in January.”

Castiel uncovers himself a little, propping his head on his hand to look at Dean. His hair is mussed, and he’s wearing flannel pj pants with an old grey henley. The guy even smells great - shampoo and a whiff of yesterday’s cologne. There’s a hint of anxiousness around his pretty green eyes, and it occurs to Castiel that if he turns the work situation around, maybe  _ he’s _ being the selfish one. This movie could be the break of a lifetime for someone obviously down on his luck. 

“Yeah,” he says slowly, “you’re right. Let’s talk. But first, breakfast.” 

Dean sighs in relief. 

* * *

Breakfast is in the crappy hotel restaurant, packed full of angry Christmas travellers and harried waitresses. They take up a table well into lunch, talking. Mostly about Sam. Dean talks about his plans for Christmas with his brother, and it sounds almost desperate - as if he hasn’t been able to do that for far too long. Castiel tries to press a little, but Dean turns the tables and instead, he finds himself talking about the show. 

“When I came out,” he starts, carefully looking at Dean’s face, but there’s nothing except acknowledgement there, so he continues. “My family and friends turned on me. I thought for a long time that I couldn’t worship. It was like a hole in my heart. Eventually, though, I found a church that was welcoming, and then I found puppeteering. Gabriel the Angel is a character Anna and I came up with; we hoped we could show kids that worship and being LGBTQ was still possible.”

Dean eats his overdone eggs with gusto while he listens, pausing to ask, mouth full, “How did that go for you?”

“Not as well as I’d like, but not too badly. Chuck came on board, and we started on a youtube channel. It got pretty popular, and when the opportunity came to put it on a bigger platform, Balthazar was a clever negotiator. So we retained most of our creative rights.” 

An alert goes off on their phones at the same time - the storm is approaching emergency level, so they both decide to brave the cold together to shop for supplies. The hotel has a kitchenette, and they have no way of knowing where they can get food for the next few days. 

A few hours later, showered and warm, Castiel sits and watches Dean cut vegetables with an impressively large hunting knife. He isn’t sure how Dean expected to get that on the flight, but he doesn’t feel like asking. 

“He’s been through a lot,” Sam had said that afternoon. Dean had gone down the produce aisle to look for celery, and Castiel took the opportunity to sneak off to use the phone. 

“Sam - was he in prison? I just… the way he talks, and the way he looks at me…”

“Listen, I trust him with you. I know he seems shifty, but he’s the only real safe person I know. Help him. For me? His story is not mine to tell, but I promise he won’t hurt you.”

So, here he is, eating baby carrots and watching a dangerous man make a roast chicken with a hunting knife and a crock pot. For Sam. 

“I have an idea.” He ventures. Dean looks up at him, questioningly. 

“It’s an weird technique, but I think we can test how well we’ll work together. Can you juggle?”

Dean makes a so-so gesture. “I haven’t done it in years.” 

Cas gestures with his half-bitten carrot. “When that’s set to cook, I want to try something.” 

* * *

In lieu of anything else, Castiel has three pairs of (clean) balled up socks. He passes them to Dean, saying, “Stand in front of the couch. I know it’s like going back to basics, but we’re trying something new.”

“Back to basics? You mean, the couch will catch dropped sock balls. I know I said it’s been a while, but I don’t think that’s necessary.” 

He deftly starts juggling the socks, whistling a little as he does. He’s rusty, Castiel can see that, but he’s still good. He watches, letting Dean warm up a little. 

“How did you know I could do this?” Dean’s stopped reaching for the balls, his hands relearning old habits. 

“It was a fair bet. There’s a lot of crossover between puppeteers and magicians.” he grins when Dean snorts out a laugh. “Okay, I’m going behind you now. I’m going to get very close.” 

Dean nods, though he looks a little nervous. Castiel goes around him, and stands behind him, close, but not touching. When Dean’s used to it, he gets inches from him, close enough to feel his warmth. 

“Good. Keep going. I’m going to wrap my left arm around your waist.” 

He gives the guy credit; he only falters a little. Dean’s suddenly clumsy, reaching for the socks more than he needs to, but he doesn’t drop them. Castiel gets closer still, plastering his body inch by inch to Dean’s until there is no air between them, chest-to-back. Then he wraps his arm around the other man’s waist. While filming, they’ll be in closer quarters than this, in public. If Dean’s going to flip out about personal space, now’s the time.

The only reaction he gets is a tension in Dean’s shoulders and a quick intake of breath, but he’s still juggling. He’s reached the zone when it’s all catch and release, waiting for what comes next. This is good, and Castiel tells him so. 

“Next, I’m going to lift my right arm up and catch the incoming ball, and you’ll let your arm drop. We’ll juggle together, your left arm, my right.” 

Without hesitating too much, Castiel does just that. Arm up, sensing Dean acknowledge its presence, he catches the next ball and passes. Dean lets his arm drop. Catch and pass, catch and pass. They go for a half a minute before he feels the rhythm falter and one of the passes goes wild. He has to reach to catch it, and then the whole thing collapses, each sock ball falling in turn and bouncing onto the couch. 

Dean shrugs him off, violently. Castiel steps back instantly, arms up, palms out. 

“I don’t need this.” He’s pacing as if caged, eyes narrowed and mistrustful. “I could have found work doing something else, not… not this. I don’t need stupid agents and snowstorms, and… whatever that was. All I wanted was Christmas with Sam.”

“Dean - “ Castiel tries. Dean whirls on him, eyes mistrustful. 

“I’m not here to hurt you. Sam asked me to give you a chance, and I trust Sam.”

Dean closes his eyes. “Me too. I just don’t think I can do this.” 

“What if I was in front? That’s how it would end up in the studio regardless. You be the left hand, I’ll be the right. As if we were puppetting Gabriel. We start together.”

“Fine,” he grinds out, jaw working. Dean’s whole body is tense, but Castiel chooses to ignore it. There’s something amazing inside this man, and he’s going to get it to come out tonight if it’s the last thing he does.

He picks the sock balls up off the couch, and waits. Eyes closed, body loose. Eventually, Dean comes up behind him. After a moment of hesitation, he plasters himself against Castiel, who tries to suppress a shiver. Dean smells really good, and feels solid against his back. His imagination runs riot for a minute before he gets ahold of himself. 

“S..so, let’s start.” 

It isn’t an immediate hit. They both seem nervous, and it causes the sock-balls to fly everywhere. Cas having to bend to retrieve them just provokes Dean to say something inappropriate, and it’s enough to make the tension snap. All they can do is laugh, unable to do anything except lean on each other, snorting.

Eventually, though, Castiel insists that they try again. The start is rocky until Dean simply lets his guard down and trusts that Cas will be there to catch what he throws. Then they get into the pattern - catch and pass, catch and pass. 

It’s hypnotic and thoughtless as they become two halves of the same person - even their breathing is in sync. Dimly, Castiel wonders if their hearts are beating together as well. He’s harder than he’s been in years and he can feel Dean’s echoing desire pressing firmly against his ass. 

Catch and pass. 

Castiel whispers his name. Dean responds by shifting his hips ever so slightly, rubbing against him. 

Catch and pass. 

Castiel shifts his stance so he won’t wobble, and tilts his hips back in invitation. 

Catch and pass. 

Dean starts rocking his hips. It’s slow, torturously slow so that it doesn’t throw off their balance. It becomes part of their rhythm. Catch, thrust, pass. It’s maddening and satisfying at the same time. 

Dean kisses the side of his head, whispering, “How long do you think we can do this? Until I come? Until you come in your pants?”

Castiel can’t answer. He doesn’t know what the answer is, only that if they stop, he’ll possibly cry. 

Catch, thrust, pass.

“Is this what we’ll be like, working together?” It’s been minutes, maybe. An hour? He can’t tell. Dean’s lips are against his ear. “Professional on the outside, but truthfully on fire?” 

Dry mouthed, he croaks out, “Dean, this is not at all professional.” 

Catch, thrust, pass.

Dean chuckles. “Oh, well. I can be professional. If that’s what you want.”   


He stops moving his hips completely, the hard length of him pressed against Castiel’s ass, but not moving.

Catch and pass, catch and pass. 

Castiel tries not to give into this blatant manipulation. He can’t move or he’ll drop the balls, and he’ll be damned if he’s the one that breaks first. But Dean smells good, and keeps kissing his ear, and his body can only take so much…

“Dean, please!” Castiel cries out. 

Catch and  _ fucking pass _ . 

He’s too stunned to realize that he’s being spun around and pushed, that he’s stopped juggling, until Dean’s lips are on his, until he’s being straddled and kissed within an inch of his life. 

* * *

He slowly awakens to the blue light of predawn again. Dean is leaning by one arm against the sliding glass doors, watching the snow. He’s naked, mussed from sleep and sex. Without turning his head, he smiles. 

“Merry Christmas, Cas.” 

“I’m sorry you’re missing the day with your brother.” 

Dean stretches languidly, and it’s glorious to see. “Whatever. I’ll see him on New Year’s. At this rate, that’s when we’ll get out of this hotel.” 

It’s warm under the covers, and the feel of the sheets against his naked body is lovely. “Come back to bed then.”

Dean turns his head to look at Castiel with a half smile ghosting over his lips. “Well, if you insist.” 

Outside, the snow falls, sparkling in the Christmas morning.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
